A Time of Reaving IC

[Trokair]

Hadad

 

+++Spontaneous life fire exercises, Sir, to show our visiting brothers that years of garrison duty had not dulled our skills.  

 

Don’t know anything about the Faithfull Conveyor, are there reasons to believe something is wrong Sir? Would the Governor like Sergeant Chalbyth to request the visiting eighteenth Legion ship to catch up with and carry out an inspection of the Conveyor?

 

Sergeant Chalbyth hasn’t shared his social schedule with me, so I can’t speak for him, but I will remind him of the fete when I report to him. +++

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

In case it's required for someone to roll, Demo test on behalf of Ravyx:

Int54 +10(Assist from Kraith) +30(Easy) = 94, Roll: 79, 1DoS

(Hmmm… if Mazer has no objections I'd maybe spend Ravyx’ FP that he mentioned, for a reroll to try and get a few more DoS, just in case of enemy attempts to defuse?)

FP Reroll: 44, 5DoS (much better!)

Sharr watched thoughtfully as the pair of Raven Guard guerrillas worked to create and install an improvised explosive device within the electro-magno-stabiliser systems of the garrison's plasma generatorium. The destruction of these control systems should cause the fission reactor to rapidly overload and detonate. The resulting explosion would be… impressive. It would wipe the Iron Warriors stronghold utterly from the surface of Phastus.

 

Such a waste of whatever resources waited behind the Armoury door irritated the Breacher… but with any luck, it would not need to happen at all. If they could catch and scuttle the Conveyor, preventing the crew of the transport from revealing the Loyalists’ presence in this system, then perhaps they could return before the timer counted down and continue their salvage mission.

 

Finally the Apothecary and the Assault Marine stood, their technical and alchemical surgery completed. Elvrit gave a respectful nod at their talent, but didn't waste time on many words.

 

“The ‘hawk is two minutes out. Let's go.”

 

 

[Black Cohort]

+++Acknowledged.  Planetary command out.+++

 

The line from the director of planetary security is cut.

 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

With the return of the thunderhawk, the time has come to return to the legion warship and chase down the fleeing transport.

 

The pilot has indicated that he noticed several PDF aircraft seemed to be operating in the area, but not sharing comms with him.

 

OOC: now would be the time to do any initial discussions/introductions with the new marine that arrived on the thunderhawk.

[Machine God]

Ashmon

 

When the Thunderhawk landed to pick up the landing party he introduced himself. He had already gained a brief on them by the Apothecary on the ship, but he always believed in first impressions.

 

Ashmon took off his helmet and talked.

 

"Greetings fellow survivors, I am Codicier Ashmon of the Iron Hands. We are off to take down the Death Guard conveyor and take tally. If you have any questions or concerns I shall answer them. We will need all the weapons we can bear against the Traitors!"

 

He was clad in black Mk IV armour, the warplate was still scuffed and scoured by the effects of the Istvaan sands. Affixed to his chapter pauldron was a blue tilt-plate and on his belt were a bunch of keys. He carried a boltgun and a sword was scabbarded at his belt.

 

His hair was cut short in an efficient buzz cut, but he sported a bushy red beard, his only visible bionic was his left hand.

 

 

 

 

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

Elvrit frowned balefully for a moment at the new arrival. Lord Manus had declared the Librarius disbanded after Nikea, its members returned to service as line legionaries, so the ‘Codicier’ had no authority to give orders to any of them.

 

However, at the same time he was glad to see that another of his Legion brethren had survived the traitors’ ambush, even if it was a psyker. He inclined his head in a comradely nod.

 

“Elvrit Sharr, Breacher, Clan Borragar.”

 

Could this Ashmon answer what had happened to the Primarch and his Morlock bodyguards? Once they were underway, he would find a quiet moment to ask the Librarian what he knew.

 

[A.T.]

Arazakiel

 

Bike secured, Arazakiel returned to his position in the cockpit, "Those below were a lost cause, we shall see if those before us fare any better". He turned from the pilot to the crafts displays as the last of the astartes boarded, "Questions can wait."

Edited May 20 by A.T.

[Trokair]

Hadad

 

Rejoining the others at the landing field he watched the exchange between Elvrit and the newly recovered Iron Hand.  He was weary of this Ashmon, and would reserve judgment for now.

 

The trappings of the Librarium that the Iron Hand wore could be keep sakes and remembrance from a time before the Edict of Nikaea, but that he had introduced himself as Codicier troubled Hadad. One who would break the Emperor’s command on one matter, would they break their oaths on others? He would have to trust him for now, for the others appeared to, but he did not like it.

 

 

Personal feelings aside, he spoke as he boarded the Thunderhawk.

 

“The Governor’s Planetary Command Office is weary of us, and I don’t think they bought the cover story I tried to smooth things over with. We may not have an easy time back down once we are back aboard the Darnok's Tribute.”

[Machine God]

Ashmon

 

He received a nod from the Breacher of Clan Borragar. 

 

"Ashmon Stormwalker, Clan Vurgaan!" 

 

The different Clans fought each other within the Legion as they had done as mortals. Strength through struggle, to weed out Weaknesses. Approved doctrine instigated by the... 

 

By the Primarch.

 

Even in thought he had to choke through the words. Still there was much hate at the weakness. 

 

"Yes. I know that you will ask me That Question. But you will not like its answer!"

 

 

 

 

 

Edited May 25 by Machine God

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

The Breacher grimaced as the psyker introduced himself. All of the Iron Tenth were known as Stormwalkers. So did the use of this moniker as a personal epithet make Ashmon a non-Medusan, a Terran veteran…? Or did it instead refer in some way to the eldritch powers he could command? Before Nikea, Elvrit had certainly seen Astartes of the Librarius program hurling blasts of warp lightning at the foe, or rouse swirling tempests that shredded the enemies’ weak flesh. Could the warrior before him call upon such abilities?

 

Then Ashmon continued to speak, and Sharr immediately stepped closer and lowered his voice to a more private, though still intense, tone.

 

“Then I will ask it, brother,” he responded in a fierce rumble. “Do you know anything about how our Lord Primarch and the brethren of Clan Avernii were faring before we left the Istvaan system?”

 

 

Edited May 24 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Ashmon

 

“Do you know anything about how our Lord Primarch and the brethren of Clan Avernii were faring before we left the Istvaan system?” The Borragar said.

 

You mean you don't know? How could it not know? Even the Mars-sworn of the Ungavarr knew. I could tell that he suffered with it!

 

 

"How could you?" stuttered Ashmon incredulously. "Were you not assaulted by the Death Shriek? FERRUS MANUS is Dead, slain by Fulgrim. I was on planet, on the sands of Isstvan V when I and everyone of my Clan Brothers received the Death Shriek, even though we were far behind the Morlocks of Clan Avernii! We were there fighting elements of the Sons of Horus when the reinforcements attacked us and we were forced to withdraw in the rout."

 

Ashmon kept on placing his hand upon the flesh of his throat as even though the stigmata wound had long since healed, it itched every time he thought about what had happened.

 

He traced the outline of his Clan Symbol in emphasis. "We of Clan Vurgaan have ever felt close to the Primarch, the fires of Karaashi the Ice Pinnacle heat our blood."

 

"Perhaps you were further away? Or perhaps it affected me because of my abilities. It is something that I would not wish anyone to bear!"

 

Perhaps it affected me more because of my skills. Or my skills helped me to retained my sanity quicker.

 

"No I can not trust to hope. He is dead and the Morlocks of Clan Avernii would have sold their lives dearly!"

 

 

 

 

Edited May 25 by Machine God
Clean up.

[A.T.]

Arazakiel

 

"It is only by the hubris of the warmaster that any could leave the surface alive while he held control of the vessels in orbit. That he and his kind choose to flaunt their treachery buys us time to spread warning, if the Emperor himself has not already heard this call to vengeance of which you speak."

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

 

The Iron Hands had always prided themselves on their ability to accept whatever was and adapt accordingly, to keep moving relentlessly forward. Elvrit had even boasted to himself about this steadfast quality after the Warmaster's forces had revealed their treachery. He had felt sure of his Legion's resilience and determination, certain that they would endure and prevail.

 

But…

 

How could one simply ‘adapt’ to… this?

 

What Ashmon had said was monstrous, unthinkable. Elvrit had only just resisted the impulse to make a furious response, to denounce the psyker as yet another traitor for his use of uncanny powers, even to physically attack him for speaking such lies.

 

Instead, Elvrit had barely answered him, barely spoken to anyone as the survivors returned to the Tribute. Rather than following the rest to the bridge to rejoin Nuzry, the Breacher had wandered the frigate’s long corridors and halls. Finally he had halted beneath one of the ship's great augur arrays. He'd snorted in bitter amusement when he'd realised where he had stopped. However many millions of miles into the black the vast Mechanicus arrays could see, they couldn't guide him now.

 

He took a deep breath and expelled it slowly, forcing his mind to consider the facts.

 

Why would the Vurgaan lie? A simple answer - he wouldn't. There was no logic in it. No purpose. So, the Librarian believed it, believed with absolute certainty that their Primarch was dead. Could he be wrong? Perhaps… but unlikely. Foolish to cling to such childish hope. Better to assume the worst, accept that Ferrus Manus was… gone.

 

Elvrit let out a half-snarl, a low, angry sound deep in the back of his throat. Very well. His Primarch was dead. Accept, adapt, advance. He must be as his fallen brethren had named him. The Adamant. Resolute, unbreakable, unstoppable.

 

So, in that case, what should he do now? The answer was simple, a mathematical progression of cause and effect that took only a fraction of a second to reach.

 

Vengeance.

 

He found his bionic hand moving, almost of its own accord, towards his weapons. The anger within him, a fire sparked when the Thunderhead arrived at Istvaan and fanned by Ashmon’s horrible revelation, was still building, becoming an inferno of rage. He clamped down on it, just as he clamped his fist against the scabbarded hilt of Hvass. No logic in unsheathing it now. Control. Focus. Bring it out only when the time was right.

 

Elvrit stood for a long moment, full of tension but utterly immobile. Then, finally, he did move. The Breacher thumped heavily back across the chamber beneath the augur arrays, heading for the bridge. By now they should be underway, chasing down the fleeing transport that served the traitorous Death Guard. As he marched, his fist continued to hold his sword’s hilt in a tight, purposeful grip.

 

He was going to kill them all.

 

 

[Black Cohort]

Darnok's Tribute had turned as was accelerating towards the Faithful Conveyor before the Thunderhawk had even docked with it.  The relatively crude sensors on the Thunderhawk indicated that the frigate would close with the supply ship less than two hours before it would reach the jump line.

 

A junior officer is waiting with a hand written message from the Acting Captain.  It indicates that aerial activity in and around the capital has increased 318.7% since you arrived in system, over half the flights are believed to be PDF flights between the capital and two bases north and north-east of it.  The Captain also believes that there have been attempts to remotely link with the ships cognitor network.

[Lord_Ikka]

Kraith

 

Kraith looked at his comrades.

 

"Hmm. PDF will most likely be moving to the Iron Warriors base, with or without approval from the Warriors' command. They are clearly worried about something, but do not have all the information. Probing maneuvers, reinforcing maneuvers. Not yet full assault deployment. We may have time to go back and retrieve supplies."

 

His chainswords briefly stirred in his hands, growling quietly.

 

"That is for later. For now, we must plan our assault on the Death Guard ship. What boarding assets do we have?"

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

 

Elvrit reentered the bridge just as Kraith asked about taking the Death Guard transport. He paused for a long moment, waiting to see if any of the others had anything to suggest, but no-one spoke. As a Breacher, part of his training and experience involved void boarding actions.

 

“Captain Nuzry. What do we know of that transport's armour and weapons? Weaknesses? Breach points?”

 

He paused, considering. The Sword Class, though only an escort, was still a warship. Its weapons should be more than a match for those of a bulk transporter. And at least equally important, it should be able to fly rings around the lumbering vessel.

 

“The Tribute must be significantly faster and more manoeuvrable, I would suggest that we use that advantage to target their key systems while avoiding any retaliatory fire. Plasma drives and Navigator's tower first, to prevent them fleeing any further. Then, once they are stranded, knock out whatever weapon batteries they have, to give our boarding team a clear path.”

 

 

[Black Cohort]

On 5/30/2025 at 8:11 PM, Lord_Ikka said:

Kraith

 

"That is for later. For now, we must plan our assault on the Death Guard ship. What boarding assets do we have?"

 

"Your Thunderhawk"

 

On 6/3/2025 at 4:02 AM, Lysimachus said:

Elvrit:

 

“Captain Nuzry. What do we know of that transport's armour and weapons? Weaknesses? Breach points?”

 

 

"It is a bulk transport.  Such craft were designed with one thing in mind, how much material they can carry.  Its void shields are more for environmental protection, armour for absorbing minor stellar debris.  Just don't breach a main loading door, you will never re-pressurize most of the ship.  They don't have the same redundancy and bulkheads of a warship."

[Trokair]

Hadad

 

Utu Mot had been listing into the tactical planning, but most of his thought had been on his armour and checking that it was still void worthy. If the cold bite of vacuum were to find a damaged seal or a weakened connection then that could be problematic for him, and the others.

 

His experiences of boarding actions were many decades in the past, and he could not help but worry that it had been too many. The proof would be in the hours to come.

 

A thought occurred as he listed to the Captains reply to the Iron Hand.

 

“Captain Nuzry, in your judgment, given reduced level of redundancy and safety mechanism, would the threat of breaching a main cargo door and resulting de-pressurizing event be enough to compel them to comply and surrender to us?”

Edited June 4 by Trokair

[Machine God]

Ashmon:

 

He had listened to the points raised.

 

“Captain Nuzry, in your judgment, given reduced level of redundancy and safety mechanism, would the threat of breaching a main cargo door and resulting de-pressurizing event be enough to compel them to comply and surrender to us?”

 

He had been on the points brought up by the Breacher, when the Terran piped up.

 

"Perhaps it would be wiser not to mention this threat which they probably are fully aware of, lest they deliberately scuttle their ship to deny us the prize."

 

 

 

 

[Trokair]

Hadad

 

He turned his head to address the Codicier directly.

 

“Fair... If the ship or its cargo was the prize alone. However, and I may well have erred in this, I thought the primary objective was not to let them inform their masters at Istvann that there are saviours here. If the only way to achieve this is for that ship to perish, then so be it.”

 

Holding both his hands up, open and friendly, or so he hoped, Hadad continued.

 

“I know I am here on sufferance, and will abide by the choices made, all I ask is clarity so that I may know where I stand.”  

[Black Cohort]

"Your questions are all really one question.  'Do you want to take the ship, or scuttle the ship?'  Answer that and the rest of your current questions will fade away."

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

 

Listening carefully to Nuźry's answer, Elvrit smiled bleakly. It sounded as though the Conveyor was essentially helpless. The discussion continued until the acting Captain boiled the matter down into two options. The Breacher knew which he would prefer.

 

Kill them. Wipe them out as quickly and efficiently as possible. Punish them and avenge the fallen.

 

Tempting. Based on the way Sgt Chalbyth had reacted, Elvrit didn't think that the Death Guard had carried away any of the Iron Warriors’ stockpile, so there was no reason to hold back…

 

…but could they be sure of that? If they were wrong, the total destruction of the transport would also result in the loss of useful war materials.

 

“Take it,” he grunted, against his own wishes, “...strip it of anything we can use, then scuttle it.”

 

[A.T.]

Arazakiel

 

"The ship represents more than war material. Its destination, the spread of corruption within its ranks, astropaths that might yet relay message to friend or foe."

[Black Cohort]

The Frigate's acceleration brought it to matching speeds then closing on the bulk conveyor relatively, it was only the hours of lead time the bulk conveyor had that caused it to take time to catch them.

 

So far the bulk conveyor has given no indication it is even aware it is being chased.

 

A few hours after you left the planet, a sub-squadron of PDF aircraft did a flyover of the Iron Warrior keep.

[Necronaut]

The Basilisk

 

The call had come to reinforce the Primarch’s forces upon the black sands of Istvaan V, where they might muster and smite the traitors, and bring this sordid episode of fratricide to an abrupt close. They made with all due haste, abandoning campaigns and comrades alike to visit retribution upon the rebellious Warmaster and the filth who forsook their oaths to the Emperor and rallied to his cause. They plunged headlong into the rough tides of the Warp in the hope they would reach their brethren in time to stand with them in victory.

 

But this was not to be. 

 

No sooner had Darnok’s Tribute and the rest of the meagre retribution fleet translated back into real-space than they were beset, surrounded, even, by traitor forces, many among them those they had thought to count as allies. Even as they prepared to make planetfall and stand and die alongside Lord Vulkan, fires raged aboard the frigate from the vicious thrashing it took punching through the traitor blockade.

 

It quickly became clear that this was no heroic pitched battle; what they had bludgeoned their way into was a slaughter.

 

Scant hours after they had arrived in the Istvaan system, he felt the ship shudder again as it translated back into the Warp, a wounded carcharodon seeking safer waters. He toiled ceaselessly within the enginarium and the gun bays and the bowels of the ship until the passage of time lost all meaning. He organized gangs of ship ratings, directed the efforts of maintenance servitors, pulled the wounded and dead free of the wreckage. He welded girders, welded disparate segments of pipe, fused wires, rerouted power conduits, sealed compromised compartments, hammered plates back into shape, and braced collapsed passageways so tech-priests could enter and perform their rites. 

 

Then the ship shuddered again. Another Warp translation. He had been relaying a steady stream of data, damage reports, repair updates, lists of dwindling supplies, and lists of the dead to the executive officer, Captain Nuzry as she would some come to be known. And still he toiled. No word from on high, no word from any of his brothers.

 

No word of the Primarch.

 

He and Lord Vulkan had never quite seen eye to eye. But he respected the man, the demi-god, if grudgingly. He had been born of Terra, among the last to be raised to Legionary from the cradle of the Empire at the dawn of the Great Crusade. He had been a Dragon Warrior then, young and vital and strong. He had fought as a line soldier, and later with one of the destroyer clades, putting wretched and misbegotten civilizations to the cleansing torch, permanently erasing their myriad blasphemies from all memory and existence. 

 

Time and war and close proximity to radioactive ordinance took its toll upon his flesh, and soon he was diminished, as much machine as man, but still he clung to the tools he had mastered: phosphex incinerator and burning blade and nucleonic hyper-lance. And he was banished by the Primarch, so set in his ways had he become. He was inducted into the Red Priesthood of Ancient Mars and the liturgies of the machine were etched upon his soul and he became lost in the mysteries of the Omnissiah. 

 

And he toiled in shame and spite amongst other Legions for a time, an exile punished for the crime of doing the Emperor's bidding, for burning away the rot to prepare the way for a new Empire of Man amongst the stars.

 

They soon returned to realspace, a shorter trip through the hellish dimension between stars this time. Hours passed with no indication from the bridge as to their location and purpose, and the information he was able to glean from the ship’s cogitator banks defied reason.

 

He had toiled for long enough. He required an explanation.

 

He appraised Magos Tyrthon of the progress of the work crews and took his leave, making the long climb to the secondary bridge.

 

They were on the move again. Hunting.

 

In the unsubtle way of his ilk, the hulking techmarine emerged from the stygian depths of Darnok’s Tribute, his Iron-pattern armour caked with soot and grime and machine oil, and scarred and gouged where twisted shards of the wounded ship had clawed at him while he had performed his ministrations.

 

The blast doors of the secondary bridge yawned wide at a wave of his false hand and he stomped into the dingy chamber, his monstrous servo arm snapping like an angry crustacean’s claw. Before him were a truly sorry-looking motley crew of other legionaries: Iron Hands and Raven Guard and a Dark Angel and an Iron Warrior amongst them.

 

He halted, taking in the tableau, noting none of the his brothers of the XVIIIth numbered amongst these vagabond warriors.

 

“Captain Nuzry,” he growled, one hand hovering over his holstered bolt pistol, "Who the devil are these rogues, where in the hells are we, and what in the name of the bloody Emperor are you doing with my ship?!”

Edited Friday at 02:34 PM by Necronaut
Formatting

[Black Cohort]

"Techmarine Basiliscus, you did not drop with the rest of the company?  It has been a week, where have you been?  And it has been a week.  There is much to fill you in on."